


And so He Passed Into Legend

by SingSwan_SpringSwan



Series: Teedle dee dee, I made an OC [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, OC grew up on stories of Bilbo Baggins, OC loves learning, OC meets her idol for the first time, Tenth Walker, and also reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25715095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingSwan_SpringSwan/pseuds/SingSwan_SpringSwan
Summary: On her last day in Rivendell, before she embarks on her fated quest of the Ring, Yin has the opportunity to meet someone she’s idolized pretty much her whole life. It doesn’t quite go the direction she thought it would, but she might learn something along the way, if she can get over her star-struck awe first.
Relationships: Original female character & family, original female character & Bilbo Baggins, original female character & Samwise Gamgee & Frodo Baggins
Series: Teedle dee dee, I made an OC [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1865134
Kudos: 3





	And so He Passed Into Legend

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it’s finally here! This should NOT have taken me so long to finish, but I hope to be forgiven if it meets the standard. Some of you have been asking for an expansion to my OC verse as introduced in Your Lovely Locks, so here’s a (painfully-long) one-shot about the time Yin got to meet Bilbo! I had a ball writing it, so I hope you enjoy too. And I would love to know what you think of the story, so don’t hesitate to smash that comment button ;D
> 
> Anyway, here are some useful translations:
> 
> Sindarin;  
> Ada: Dad  
> Mithrandir: Grey Wanderer (the sindarin name for Gandalf)  
> Dû vaer: good night  
> Gwathel: sworn sister  
> Elleser: elf-friend
> 
> Khuzdul;  
> Kurduwe: my heart  
> Mizzimith: jewel that is young  
> Gamzûna: she that is fierce  
> Bâheluh: friend of all friends

_ “ _ Ada _!  _ Ada _! Please, one more story before bed!” _

_ “Oh no, I’m not so certain that is best. The hour is late,  _ kurduwe _ , and little pebbles need their sleep. You must be well rested for your adventures in the morning.” _

_ Yin sat forward in her bed, stretching her eyes as large as they would go. “But  _ Ada _ , I am not tired! See?” _

_ He chuckled fondly. “Is that so?” _

_ “It is so! Just one more story,  _ Ada _ , please?” _

_ “Just one!”  _ Mizzimith _ echoed. She was young and quite a little thing, but already very keen to follow the example of her big sister. She too was leaning in anticipation, and her innocent eyes were wide. Though not all could be guessed, for Mizzi’s enjoyment of the fairystories was genuine indeed, and it wasn’t just an admiration for her elder sibling that compelled her to ask for another. _

_ Yin knew this herself, and was grateful for it. She trusted her sister would press their  _ Ada _ just as hard, and so double the chances of his staying longer. _

_ “Very well,” Their father readjusted his position to the side of their bed and rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “What would you like to hear?” _

_ “Tell us about Bilbo!” Mizzi cried. _

_ “Yes, Bilbo Baggins, let’s hear his tale.” Yin quickly agreed. “You haven’t told us that one in a long time.” _

_ The man laughed. “It hasn’t been nearly a week!” He exclaimed. Though to the girls, a week  _ was _ a dreadful lengthy age, for they really had not yet seen a grand number of them. “Perhaps only one of his tales then.” _

_ Yin thought to herself that this was a fair bargain, because Bilbo had indeed partaken in many adventures, and created many wonderful stories. _

_ “What about the dragon!” This was  _ Mizzimith _ ’s suggestion, as predictably usual. The smallest girl was quite fond of peril and dramatic danger in word-craft. “Tell us about the dragon.” _

_ But it was Yin’s turn to choose, and  _ Ada _ gently reminded his younger daughter of this. Mizzi pouted while Yin carefully thought of what she would select. They would only get one more story out of  _ Ada _ that night, so she had to make it count. _

_ “I picked one.” She announced solemnly, after a few moments of quiet deliberation. _

_ The younger of the sisters anxiously leaned forward, straining her ear to hear Yin request a recounting of Smaug. But Yin requested no such thing, much to Mizzi’s dismay. _

_ “I want to hear about the Wood Elves.” Yin said. “How when Bilbo was in the Elvenking’s halls.” _

_ “What?” Mizzi wailed, and flopped backward on the bed. “That’s the most boring part of the story!” _

_ But their father just smiled and sat back, eye a-twinkle with some knowing look. “Ah,  _ gamzûna _ , a good choice.” He waited for Mizzi to stop moaning before settling into the account. _

_ The littlest girl crossed her arms heatedly and glared at Yin, slouching down against the pillows. Yin felt bad, but not enough to change her pick. She’d always been somewhat intrigued by this part of the adventure, and in her mind, the two of them did not hear it nearly as much as they should. _

_ “Now, the Wood Elves,”  _ Ada  _ slowly began. “These are the elusive fair folk of Mirkwood. They are not like their cousins in the west, you see. They are less accepting, and more dangerous.” _

_ “The Wood Elves are cunning, aren’t they,  _ Ada _?” Mizzi interrupted. “And sneaky too!” _

_ “Now now,”  _ Ada _ chuckled. “Let us be kind.” _

_ “Yes, kind!” Yin exclaimed, scowling at her sister disapprovingly. “The Wood Elves weren’t being sneaky, it was just the magic of the forest. Don’t you know, you cannot sneak up on thirteen dwarves so easily. They have eyes like hawks, and the ears of foxes!” _

_ “My, you two are very noisy!” Their father scolded. He did not mind their breaking-ins, but fussing and fighting would take away from the fun of it. “Do you wish to hear the tale or not?” _

_ “Sorry  _ Ada _.” They murmured in unison. _

_ “Allow me to begin again.”  _

_ The two girls forgot their banter for a moment and eagerly quieted. _

_ “The Wood Elves  _ are _ indeed, very clever and sneaky.” He said, to which Mizzi gave a victorious grin. “But there was also a heavy darkness that lingered in the wood, which made the air thick, and clouded the dwarves’ heads.” _

_ Yin smirked to herself. _

_ “This was how the Company of Thorin Oakenshield entered the forest. They had no time—nor will to travel around the great expanse of trees, but the challenge of traversing through the woodland realm was indeed challenge enough, for Gandalf did not come with them!” _

_ “Oh no!” Mizzi burst out, and quickly slapped a hand over her mouth. “They cannot make it through the forest without  _ Mithrandir _ ’s help, they’ll be lost!” _

_ “Yes, lost.” He said. “For the company did not know the woods as the elves did. Their only hope was to stay upon the path through the trees, and they could not. The sun was trapped behind the leaves; they had no way of sensing any course or direction. And now, you must understand, this forest had changed of old. It was no longer the beautiful Greenwood, full of laughter and good season and merriment, it had then turned to Mirkwood: a place of secret and shadow and danger.” _

_ Yin and Mizzi shivered together. _

_ “As for danger, the Company did indeed encounter danger! Not long after they had lost their way, and their food, they lost their freedom too!” The man suddenly lurched forward, hands raised threateningly. “Vicious spiders attacked them!” _

_ The girls shrieked. _

_ “Spiders brought them deep into the wood and spun them into webs, so that they might later have a feast!” _

_ (“How awful!”) _

_ “But Bilbo, you recall, had more of his wits about him than the others. While his companions began to be snatched away, he slipped on his ring, and vanished, thinking that he could be a secret weapon and perhaps save his friends. It came to pass that he did free the dwarves from those monstrous beasts,” _

_ They sighed in relief. _

_ “And it was at this time that he named his sword. Do you remember what he called it?” _

_ “Sting!” They both breathed reverently. _

_ “Yes, Sting. Unfortunately for poor Bilbo, neither he nor Sting were big enough or strong enough to protect all of his friends at once. For shortly after he’d freed them from the spiders, a patrol of Wood Elves appeared. The elves hunted those foul creatures too, but this did not make them friends of Thorin and his Company. The King’s son, along with his guard captain, rounded up the dwarves and dismantled their possessions. The elf prince even reclaimed Thorin’s sword, Orcrist, the Biter, for himself, and the company was taken prisoner.” _

_ “But not Bilbo!” Yin put in. _

_ “Yes, Bilbo managed to elude capture once again.” _

_ “Good Old Bilbo,” Yin and Mizzi cheered. “He’s going to free the dwarves from those mean elves, isn’t he, _ Ada _?” _

_ There was a brief pause, which the man took to lean back in his chair and don a thoughtful expression. “Well now, hold your hammer,  _ gamzûna _ , that piece of the story comes later.” _

_ Mizzi had been hoping he would skip ahead. She drooped a little in disappointment. _

_ “Now, Bilbo had been wearing his special ring at the time. This allowed him to creep along with the rest of the company, without even the elf prince taking notice. And a mighty good thing, I may add, because the forest had been growing darker in the past few years, and the elves were taking their prisoners somewhere very difficult to breach: the great halls of the Elvenking, Thranduil Oropherion. _

_ By no small amount of skill was Bilbo able to sneak inside, I tell you, he exercised a great deal of stealth and swiftness, and wielded a very good portion of luck. For once they had shut the last elf within the great halls, the door was sealed, only to be opened again by order of the king himself. They were dark times within the forest, and the king—being very concerned with his own people and their doings—had brought many of his subjects to the caverns of his ruling, to protect them from foul creatures such as the spiders.” _

_ “ _ Ada _ , wait.” Yin raised her hand. A thought of great importance had just occurred to her. “You said that the Wood Elves were even more dangerous than their kin in the west. Why were they afraid of the spiders? Couldn’t they have chased them off?” _

_ Her father took the question into genuine consideration, pausing from the story as he did, to Yin’s surprise. _

_ “It is a strange thing, my child, perhaps to live long and foresee every ill turn of action. You share the mind of the guard captain, and her prince, who both are young. It does well to remember that King Thranduil has seen much sorrow in his life, and grief can turn even the wisest to anger and isolation.” _

_ “But I thought they were isolated because of the dangers of the forest.” _

_ “And that is itself a paradox. The elves did indeed have some of the power to cleanse the wood; they merely lacked the will, save a few. This guard captain, for example. The Elvenking wished to concern himself only with his own kingdom, his own people, and his own business. He looked not to other lands, or other nations that lived beyond his borders, only when they tied to his personal affairs, did he intervene.” _

_ “The siege of Erebor?” _

_ “Yes, but that is a story for another night.” _

_ Yin quietly tucked that information to the back of her mind.  _ What was Thranduil’s purpose at Erebor? _ A story for another night. _

_ “Very good!” Mizzi harrumphed quickly. “Can we go back to Bilbo? Elves are boring, they are.” _

_ Yin grumbled. “You speak nonsense. I think they are very exciting.” But she bid their father continue anyway. _

_ “Well, where did I leave off?” _

_ “Bilbo had just only made it into the palace.” _

_ “Ah, of course. Now, at this time, the dwarves were all being locked up. The dungeons of the Wood Elves were deep within the caverns, and all but one was shut away tight.” _

_ “Thorin!” _

_ “Yes, instead of putting him in a cell, the elf prince brought him to his father, the Elvenking, so that he might be questioned about his business in the wood. Being clever as he was, King Thranduil quickly ascertained the objective of Thorin’s quest. What he did not know, however, was that there was a person missing from the dwarf’s company, and that Oakenshield himself was aware of it.” _

_ “That’s Bilbo, then?” _

_ “Of course! And a mighty clever fellow himself, if he was able to go traipsing around the mountains of Mirkwood completely undetected by guard, prince, and king. Thranduil offered to release Thorin and his companions in return for some treasure from the mountain. However, the dwarf prince was bitter with memory. Memory of how the Wood Elves had forsaken his people at the hour of the dragon, and he refused the deal hotly. He insulted the king and cursed him, so Thranduil gave orders to lock him away for a hundred years. _

_ Some of Thorin’s company were aghast that he had recklessly thrown out their only hope of departure. But Thorin himself had not given up hope. He was counting on Bilbo, whom he knew was about the palace somewhere, and patiently waited for the poor hobbit to step in and save them.” _

_ “That is not fair, giving Bilbo all the work. He was to be their burglar in Erebor, not their prison breaker and nurse sitter as it should be convenient.” _

_ The man shook his head fondly and smiled. “No, it is not. All the same, Bilbo felt it was his responsibility to free the dwarves. He was the only one not in prison, and without them he was not employed. And what kind of person do you think he would have proved to be if he had just left them there without at least trying to help?” _

_ Yin and Mizzi pondered this quietly. _

_ “No, Bilbo thought. It would be decent—yes—only decent indeed to make a small effort. After everything he had been through with the company, he would be a very unrespectable and selfish fellow to leave them now, though he had every chance—and every excuse. But you must understand, Bilbo stayed, not just because leaving would have been a misdeed, but because choosing to stand by his friends—even when the situation seemed hauntingly hopeless—was the right thing to do.” _

_ “I don’t understand,  _ Ada _.” Said Yin. “Are those not the same thing?” _

_ A smile melted into his features, but the emotion behind it was difficult to decipher. Was that sadness? Disappointment? Perhaps even a protective determination. “Oh no,  _ kurduwe _ , there is a great difference. It is easy for a scared man to refuse what is wrong, but only the courageous have the strength to do that which is just.” _

_ Yin took his words and turned them over in her head, carefully. She did not yet understand their meaning, but it seemed imperative that she at least try, if not in all their completeness. It was not often that a presented situation would be black and white as much, and Yin thought then that it must be very important to make her choices on right and wrong, even now. Even when she did not understand. _

_ “Once Bilbo had made up his mind to stay and help, it was not as if his task became easy. All alone, he was, in the Elvenking’s domain, hardly a shadow.” _

_ Yin and  _ Mizzimith _ returned to the Mirkwood in their heads. _

_ “Every odd was placed against the hobbit; his chances of rescuing his friends had grown very slim indeed. But Bilbo did not give up, no. He refused to abandon his task. He had strongly made up his mind to see it through, even to the very end.” _

_ How very inspiring, that stubbornness could prove a valiant quality. _

_ “For a fortnight, Bilbo wandered the dwellings of the Wood Elves, determined to formulate a plan of escape. He made use of himself as a burglar, snatching small bits of food and conversation as the days passed. One by one, he found the cells in which each dwarf was contained. Though he was not yet able to free them, he managed to scheme some with Thorin, here and there, and a plan slowly began coming together in his head. _

_ One day, while exploring the lower levels of the palace, Bilbo overheard some of the elves talking leisurely in the cellar. The king’s butler and the keeper of the keys were observing an import of very old, very expensive wine, of the Dorwinion variety. It was the king’s favorite, and he brought much of it into his halls, using the forest river as a means of transport. In fact, a decent number of the goods traded into the Woodland realm were packed tight into barrels and sent up and down the watercourse. Now, when  _ Bilbo _ learned this, you can imagine how excited he must have become.” _

_ “Barrel-rider!” Mizzi whispered gleefully. _

_ “Yes, a part of Bilbo’s adventurous spirit took over for this endeavor, and that is not at all a bad thing. You girls remember how the story continues?” _

_ Yin nodded seriously. “It was quite a  _ convoluted _ plot,” She said, very pleased with an opportunity to use the big word from yesterday’s book. “escaping disguised as trade goods. It is clever, but it doesn’t make much sense to me.” _

_ Her father chuckled. “I understand your concern, Keggsy. It does not seem practical at all, does it now?” _

_ She dutifully shook her head.  _

_ “Well, allow me to ask this. If Bilbo had merely stolen the keys, and he snuck the dwarves out the king’s front gate, would you be as excited to hear their story?” _

_ “No!” Mizzi barked quickly, and Yin had to agree. A high-speed barrel chase down the forest river was much more enticing to the ear. _

_ “Of course, the entertainment of a captivated audience was not Bilbo’s primary concern. But do not be so quick to dismiss an idea for its outwardly wild and counterproductive nature. The strangest of ambitions can rear great mirth, and victory.” _

_ Mizzi rolled her eyes. “Ada, what has that got to do with the story?” _

_ At her surprisingly sassy tone, he reached over and scratched the bottom of her foot, causing the little girl to shriek and skitter to the edge of the bed. “HEY!” _

_ “Contain yourself, little lady there! Is that how you test the patience of an old and weary bard?” But he was smiling in his eyes, and soon Mizzi giggled and apologized without sincerity. _

_ “I see it plain. You merely wish to get to the adventurous part.” _

_ “It is all she’s been asking for,  _ Ada _.” Yin informed him. _

_ So after Mizzi implored the old and weary bard once more with a small amount of genuine repentance, he turned again to Yin, and continued his description. _

_ “In a much more reasonable answer, the halls of the elves were sealed fast. Surely you haven’t forgotten the growing danger beyond their borders? It would be certainly impossible to try to smuggle all thirteen dwarves from the dungeons, up through the elven halls, and out of the great gate—which Bilbo had determined to be the only entrance and exit in the whole of the palace, of all his days spent exploring. This is where his  _ convoluted _ plan came into action. When he had learned of a  _ new _ door within the cellar—one which led straight out into the river—he needed merely to wait for an opportunity, and one soon presented itself. _

_ “Dorwinion wine, I’ll have you know, is much liked by not just the king himself. Most every wood elf is fond of it, and this is mainly why the dwarves were able to escape.” _

_ “How do you mean,  _ Ada _?” _

_ “I’m glad you asked. Another shipment of wine had recently been received, and it was to be served to the king's court for his merry-making that very night. However, the king’s butler was unwisely charged with it’s handling, and he became much too merry far too soon. He and his friend, the key-keeper, decided to test the wine’s quality right there in the cellar of the palace, leaving the dungeon keys, and Bilbo’s escape route completely unguarded. Some time prior, our dear hobbit had also learned that a shipment of empty barrels was to be sent back to Esgaroth—that is, the town upon the long lake. It was certainly a perfect opportunity.” _

_ “Indeed, I say.” Yin wondered, though she had heard the story many times, and was already familiar with the details of Bilbo’s daring jailbreak. “I should suspect that the elves set it up on purpose, if I did not remember how angry the Elvenking was about the dwarves’ escape.” _

_ “Well, one thing which is certain, the journey was not easy, nor was it made at all comfortable by any elf who may or may not have raised a hand to aid them. Bilbo did do his best, once he had scurried back to the dungeons—lifted keys in possession—he unlocked the cells of the dwarves and gathered them with him to the cellars. It was then a mighty tedious task, convincing them to trust his idea of being packed into the barrels—as well as following through with it. But he did his best.” _

_ “Say his best was fairly decent.” _

_ “Of course that, Bilbo Baggins was not one to cut corners, you know. He did a fine and decent job packing his friends away, so much so, in fact, that they were halfway down the river by the time the guard captain or her prince had any inkling as to what had happened.” _

_ This was the part Mizzi had been hoping for. “And  _ Ada _ , what happened when they did realize?” _

_ He laughed. “Why, they chased after them, of course. It wouldn’t do to let the prisoners run scott-free, after all; what a fit that would cause the Elvenking! So the prince and the guard captain quickly gathered a patrol together and raced down the river. However, they would seem fated not to reclaim their captives. Soon after they located the laden barrels, a pack of orcs sprang out of the forest and ambushed them!” _

_ Yin flinched in surprise while her sister leaned forward eagerly. Yin did not like orcs. She had had the utmost un-privilege of seeing a few in her short span of years, and she did not like them. They were repulsive, and horrifying, and they made her sick to her belly, though she wasn’t quite certain why. That the elves were their enemies made her ready to forgive the eccentric wood-dwellers, and not dislike them, as any respectable dwarrow would.  _

Ada _ —sensing her discomfort—quickly plowed on in the story. “The orcs engaged the surprised elf patrol, for it seemed they were after one prize: Thorin Oakenshield (and company). The leader of the vile pack was called Bolg, and he was spawn of the notorious goblin Azog, who had killed Thror. Bolg was bent on hunting Thorin down and killing him. The dwarf, so being caught in a barrel fast-flowing down the river, made it seem quite an opportune moment for the orcs, trespassing on elvish lands though they were. At this point in their journey, the company was becoming very frustrated and very uncomfortable. Sounds of a commotion along the bank were the only excuse they needed to pop out of their vessels and give the wider world a quick look-see—which turned out to be a good thing, because it is very likely that they would not have survived if they had remained passive.” _

_ “What about Bilbo?” _

_ “Oh, Bilbo was also fairly discomforted by the means of transportation, for he had not been packed snuggly into one of the floating vessels. Instead he had to cling to the outer side of one as the current had its way with him, barely hanging there like a half-drowned rat. This made him an easy target for the orcs, and sitting in the frigid water so long gave him quite the cold, but it was the price for being last in the barrels, burglar jail-breaker of the elven halls. Bilbo—though not entirely pleased with the development—was at least content with the fact that his plan had taken enough effect, and that is the important part.” _

_ Mizzi peered at  _ Ada _ with one suspicious eye. “I would not be content. I would be angry! They gave Bilbo all the work, and that is not fair!” _

_ Yin agreed. And she found it incredibly admirable that—even after all the annoyances in the wood and in the elven halls and along the river—Bilbo did not forsake his dwarvish companions; Yin certainly might have, contract or no. She did fancy adventures, but having to pull the weight of thirteen of her friends besides her own sounded very much exhausting. Only then, she thought she couldn’t rightly know, because she did not have thirteen friends. _

_ “Life is often unfair,  _ gamzûna _. But you and Yin must decide if you will let that bitter your heart, or strengthen it, like Bilbo did.” _

_ “I think it is better to be strong than bitter.” Yin said, almost to herself. Being bitter was probably more satisfying in the moment, but it wasn’t as if it would change the state of things. Only strength could do that. So logically, being strong was better. Better than bitter. _

_ And it was on that thought that their story-hearing was concluded. Usually in that manner, it was, for  _ Ada _ enjoyed adding lesson to legend. _

_ Ada smiled at Yin. After a moment, he patted his knees and rose from the chair, thus ending their nightly tale rather abruptly (but as much was his custom, because then he knew that it would drive them to ask for more again soon). “I think you are right, Keggsy.” He leaned forward and tucked her stray hair away. Planted a kiss on her head. “You must be very wise then.” _

_ Warmth bundled in her chest. _

_ Off to the side, Mizzi was wearing a sour expression, because Yin was older and probably more clever than one who had only seen five summers. And she seemed envious of her sister’s praise and wit. _

_ “ _ Mizzimith _ ,”  _ Ada  _ reached out a hand with an amused smile. “Come say  _ dû vaer _.” _

_ She did—however, with impressive reluctance—flop closer to the edge of the bed and let him kiss her softly, before she scrambled back to burrow under the covers with a quiet glare. Yin kept a firm grip on the quilt with clenched fists, just to make sure her sister couldn’t steal all of it before the lights even went out. _

_ “That is all we will hear of tonight.” Ada told them. He took the slender glass lamp from the table at the bedside. “Be strong, my little ones, and remember not to give in. Then perhaps tomorrow night, you can learn of the dragon.” _

_ Mizzi’s sharp gaze softened slightly. _

_ Then he made his way to the door and gave them one last look, carrying the fire with him, a clear signal that they were to sleep now. But Yin thought she would stay awake a little longer to ponder the richness of the story. There was much to learn. And if there was ever something that Yin delighted to do, it was learn. _

_ “ _ Dû vaer, Ada.”

~

Yin’s dress had been a gift from Arwen. As a result, it was gorgeous, and patterned, and it shimmered, and Yin grew suspicious that her  _ gwathel _ was starting to betray her to Aragorn’s cosplaying schemes. Arwen had insisted that the color was flattering, especially to Yin’s darker skin (which wasn’t all that dark, if honesty came to truth. Beside the elf lady only, did Yin appear sun-kissed, because Arwen was fair even among the fairest race). 

But Yin was not incredibly fond of the beautiful gown; she was much more used to trousers and leggings. Interest never had arisen in making her appearance primped or attractive. It was always enough to simply appear. Make no mistake, she was grateful that the half-elven had considered her, but it seemed like Arwen had chosen the most obnoxious dress to offer. 

Yin was definitely not going to kill a battalion of orcs in it, at least that was for certain.

And she had always worried after the elegance of some clothes, and whether or not she merely looked ridiculous, which she had been told was ridiculous. Despite how often people praised her beauty and poise, she found the flattery hard to take serious. She’d never had reason to mind physical attraction. As a result, she was rather inexperienced in regards to recognizing style and aesthetic. She might always fret that her get-up over did.

Now was not an exception. For a meeting so important, she would loathe to appear ostentatious or overly grandiose, and she was fairly certain that the dress was not aiding her cause. It was extravagant. And she did not feel comfortable in it.

“Miss Yin, are you alright?” Samwise—Sam—paused in the center of the path they walked and gazed at her quizzically. His confused look was warranted by the fidget Yin had taken up with her sleeves: plucking at the hems, rolling them up and down. Even though it was only in her imagination, the soft fabric was starting to itch, and it was all she could do to channel her nervousness into fingering movements instead of a distressed facial regard. 

Why, for all the tranquility of Rivendell, she simply could not calm down. The feeling had started as excitement, of course, but now the diggling doubt had crept in, and she was coming to be afraid. Though she didn’t know exactly what she feared. Possibly embarrassment, if she had to shoot in the dark. Yes, it would be a mighty horrid thing to embarrass herself in front of the man— _ hobbit _ —she was going to meet. Just the notion cooled the blood in her veins.

But she couldn’t allow the nerves to evince themselves in any more of a physical manner, so she clenched her hands tightly within the sleeves of her beautiful dress and settled her face.

“Yes, Sam. I’ll be fine. And please,” She turned to smile at him gently. “You need only call me ‘Yin’.”

Yin wasn’t sure if she looked as convincing as she sounded, but Sam was gracious. Smile mirroring hers, he reached up and took hold of one of her hands. “Alright, Yin. We’re getting close now.”

There was some comfort to gather from the warmth of Sam’s confidence. Yes, Yin’s palms were still sweaty, and she was having a hard time feeling her legs, but at least she wasn’t alone.  _ Mahal _ , how terrifying that would be.

Their trek soon brought them to the high apartment of the valley. Sweeping colonnades ran up against the cliff face, holding wide, open ceilings, vaulted with graceful stone. The whole space was open and wall-less. Cool breeze came and went. And to the left lay sparkling pools filled by falling Bruinen, glowing with sun caught in their depths. It was a vantage from which to see the whole of the valley, set apart, and quiet with rushing water. A place fit for thinking. Remembering.

“Here we are,” Sam announced. And he led her into the lovely quarters.

What decor there was seemed to be an endearing blend of quaint, homely humility, and simple, elvish grandeur. The place was clearly much lived-in, if the haphazardly strewn papers, books, and maps were anything to go by. The familiar scent of them filled Yin’s nose, calming her some. How she would love to sit there on the floor, paging through every manuscript, every volume, poring over the ink—faded and fresh—feeling each mark of the quill as the creamy parchment crackled in her hands. She would travel to new worlds and different lifetimes, from right here, in this sweet apartment cradle. Yes, she would very much like that.

But perhaps not now. She was not there to read old books, after all. She was there to meet the real life character.

A last handful of steps brought Yin and Sam to the belly of the apartment. There was a wide, living area, adorned with low couches and cozy rugs and half-sized furniture. The ceiling remained high. The floor beneath the carpet was warm through Yin’s slippers. Sweet fragrance drifted from hanging baskets of small, yellow blossoms.

And lo as they approached, there were two hobbits, sitting beside a great chest, surrounded by relics of adventures past. One, Yin knew to be Frodo, the ringbearer, whom she esteemed. The other was a little shorter, and he bore great, white curls to crown his head. Even in age, she recognized his face from paintings and sketches marvelled at.

This was Bilbo Baggins. Companion of dwarves, burglar of Erebor,  _ Elleser _ . Elf-Friend. The hobbit. Right here in front of her.  _ Right in front of her. _

At their approach, Frodo and his Uncle turned away from whatever they had been discussing, noting the newcomers with curiosity. They looked to Sam, then their eyes fell on Yin, and Yin became overwhelmed with too many emotions to number. Her hand slipped from Sam’s. Her numb legs collapsed at the knee, and she fell prostrate with her palms to the ground.

Disregard be on her dress. The state of her clothing did not matter when she was in the company of such a wonder—when she beheld such awesomeness.

“Oh, goodness gracious!” The hero exclaimed. He leapt up from his cushioned chair. “Are you alright, young lady?”

“Dear me, Yin!” Sam added.

Yin’s face was cast down, and she took a few swallows to regain vocal functionality. Even so, her words wobbled leaving her lips. Her breathing was shallow.

“I… I cannot tell you how honored I am to be in your presence.” She said to the rug. “Master Burglar, you are a legend to my people. And a hero to me.” Her words sounded so dull and flat. They did not fully describe the immensity of her awe. They failed to capture the real amount to which she respected.

“Well, I never!” The hobbit sounded flustered. “I implore you, girl, get up! Get up at once! I am no ruler to be venerated. Come now, let’s see your face.”

She felt him gently take her hands from the floor. A tremor passed through her body, and as she lifted her head and looked up, she could not help but feel child-like in her wonder. And really, by regard of all but men, her mere twenty-six winters of walking would indeed render her a juvenile. She had much to see yet, and that much more to learn.

“My lord—”

“Now, now, none of that!” He interrupted with a huff. “You must call me “Mister Baggins”. Or even “Bilbo”, if you please.”

Yin found somehow that she could arrange her feet beneath her, and she wobbled to stand with legs that trembled beneath her shimmering skitrs. Sam offered his shoulder to grasp in balance. Her throat was dry and her tongue in knots.

Frodo was giving her a bemused look.

“Alright then, lass, what is your name, and what brings you to my humble abode?” Bilbo plopped back into his seat and waved his arms at her. “Go on, don’t be shy. And I don’t expect a lovely girl as yourself should faint again like you did. Uncomfortable business, having to fetch the healers and all, have them march up here and rightly make a mess, pah!”

Unfortunate then, that Yin did feel like fainting. 

Just listening to his voice, she could almost believe she’d yet known him for years. His words reminded her of an old friend’s, whom she was much familiar with and at home around. Such a thought loosened her tongue a little.

“I am called Yin. Daughter of Erduthil.” She managed. But it was difficult to form the rest of the answer. Her stiff lips and cramped throat were challenging her patience.

“She wanted t’meet you.” Sam stepped in when he perceived her induced muteness. “I told her that you were here—in Rivendell and all—and she really wanted to meet you. Said I’d introduce her, if that’s alright, Mr. Bilbo.” 

Yin could just nod. If she was making a fool of herself, she was glad that it be before Sam and Frodo, and not some other of her associates, such as Boromir, or that alluring elven friend of Aragorn’s. It was bad enough that so transpired such a meeting with Mr. Bilbo Baggins. Hadn’t Yin known she would do something embarrassing?

“Quite alright, my boy. However, she already seems to have a bit about this old fellow. Tell me, dear, how is it that you know who I am?”

Yin released Sam in a daring move and shuffled forward, still quite starstruck. In spite of her fancy dress and fancy jewelry and fancy braided hair, it only seemed appropriate to kneel before the hobbit, like a child before her father, eagerly awaiting some fantastic story telling. Yin folded her hands neatly to keep from fidgeting.

“I come from the Grey Mountains. It has long been known to us, the chronicle of your adventures to Erebor, for dwarrow is common like man in our villages and cities, as well as admiration for such noble courage as yours.” Yin explained. It was all she could do to contain herself. “I have heard and read much regarding your heroic deeds. I aspire to your character, eidolon that you are.”

Sam and Frodo watched on quietly. Bilbo opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, appearing ruffled, cheeks flushed. When he shook his head, the white curls of his hair bounced.

“Why, you mistake me!” He insisted. “A hero? Utter nonsense! Who is it that you think I am?”

He wasn’t angry, just surprised; and the words took Yin aback. She blinked once in confusion, turning to Sam for clarity—but he looked just as bewildered as she felt, and that was no help. Honesty was the only logical approach (though perhaps not the wisest, since she was, in fact, speaking with the famed riddle-maker).

“Esteemed Master Burglar of the Lonely Mountain. Friend of Thorin Oakenshield, and of King Dain Ironfoot.”

Frodo murmured something encouragingly.

“Luckwearer, Barrel-Rider, He That Walks Unseen.” Yin continued. “Burrahobit, Child of the Kindly West, Thief in the Shadows, Ring-Winner, Friend of Bears, Guest of Eagles, Lucky Number, Web Cutter, Fly that Stings the Spider.” There had been a time when Yin could recite every one of Bilbo’s names from memory, and in the order they’d been given him, but that was not the case at the moment. Her strange mish-mash of ecstasy and nervousness was doing awful things to her exact recollection.

“Elf-friend.” She added last.

Frodo smiled and laughed kindly. “Uncle, I do think she’s said them all! You cannot deny yourself now.”

“Lovely titles,” Bilbo grumbled, almost to himself. “But you seem to think that they make me someone gallant. I assure you, the hobbit you are speaking with is nothing of the kind.”

To that, Yin had no idea what to say. This… this went against what she had read, what she had heard. No, Bilbo Baggins  _ was  _ an icon, and a courageous one. His deeds were testimony enough. Did he not believe in himself, then? Was she the first to approach him in such a manner? Yin genuinely beheld him in awe.

“But… but the stories.” She said. “Are you not he who navigated goblin tunnels and fought monstrous spiders and vouched your life for one friend?”

She leaned forward earnestly. Those were the tales she’d been told. And she had read too many various accounts to dismiss their credibility; there must be something else afoot. Yin wanted to hear what he said of it. She needed to know why he could claim such a thing.

His curious gaze studied her with equal intensity before a reply was made. That gaze was a practiced one, made with ancient, sorrowful eyes.

“I see now, Yin, daughter of Erduthil, you are acquainted with a Baggins that others have seen.” Under his breath, he added, “Likely Bofur made his share of embellishments.”

“Mr. Baggins?” Yin had far too many questions. (She knew who Bofur was; that was not the issue) This was not at all the conversation that she had anticipated. What did he mean? Was this some kind of test—a riddle, perhaps? She hoped not. Riddles were intriguing, but she’d never been very good at them. 

And was he going to rectify her seemingly skewed view?

“Listen well, now.” He said seriously.

In the corner of Yin’s eye, Frodo gave a knowing smile.

“You say you have heard the stories, and you know much that there is. But you have been taught an image crafted by the views of my friends, and they have been kind in their special memories. I will tell you of my perspective. Listen well, now.”

Yin was good at listening. She settled into the carpet and leaned forward with eagerness. Even if she was wrong, and had been, being corrected in this manner, and at this time, by this very person made all of the disappointment fulfill its worth. She wanted to hear. Wanted more than anything to learn.

“It all began at Bag-End, in Hobbiton, under the hill; this you must know. My guests on that fated night were already fighters, warriors, heroes. I was just a simple Baggins. I was innocent—and ignorant too! Faint of heart, if you know what I mean. I can’t think what compelled Gandalf to assume I was the right hobbit for the job, but he assumed as much, and I should be happy that he did.”

Yes, but that was a great thing of the adventures. How he had grown as a character, how he had changed and deepened in personality and wisdom. This, Yin knew.

“And I was not a hero. I was a Baggins! Why, even the word “adventure” was at that time an uncomfortable term. A good, self-respecting Baggins would never dream of such a sacreligious endeavor. But I did it, I signed their contract of employment.” He heaved a heavy sigh and paused for a while. Lost in the memory of it, seemingly.

Yin didn’t mind the wait; let him take his time. Let him take all the time in the world. Should he never finish his story, his explanation, it would be enough for her to have heard what she had heard, said what she had said. If she never read his books, or studied his maps, or talked for hours and hours into the night, this much that she’d been given was enough. She would be satisfied. 

Yet he continued.

“I don’t remember what drove me from my door. I had everything I needed right where I was. My home, my family, and numerous possessions. Gold was no temptation. It had no practical use to me in any case, and no other reward was promised. I suppose the adventure itself was a tickling thought. There had always been a part of me that wanted to do splendid things, like slaying monsters and rescuing fair maidens.” 

Adventure. An honest draw, if ever one was.

“But adventures are not all easy pony rides and rolling hills.” Bilbo muttered with a sadness. “The sun doesn't stay awake forever. Sometimes, the rain comes, and it pours like a great deluge unchangeable. Even a great wizard is unwilling to stretch his hand against it.”

Frodo rolled his eyes fondly, swiping at his mouth to hide a smile.

“And I did not like the adventure one bit after that. No, not at all, I tell you. I was missing home. I wanted to go back to my books, and my garden, and my blissfully soft armchair. I wanted to get away from the nasty, uncomfortable perils I’d been dragged into. I wanted to leave behind the dank mountain caves, the stinking tunnels and their chambers full of wicked torture instruments.”

Oh, Yin knew of what he spoke! He was referencing the goblin massacre, on the company’s flight through the Misty Mountains. Bilbo himself had slipped away from the big group, and famously dueled the creature Gollum after which in a clever game of riddles. Not a prisoner he’d been, but even having proximity with those horrid goblin beasts would make even the most shamed of sons hold his home in bright light. 

Yin too, would often find herself longing for her low bed from the cold watches of darkness, when she was out on a forsaken mountain face, battling too many orcs to number. She would long for that shell of a house, in spite of all the memory it was weighted with.

“I should never have come here,” Bilbo grumbled and adjusted his seat. “That’s what I told myself. ‘I’m a Baggins, not a Took; I don’t know what I was thinking, walking out my door, hoping for a chance at valor. A rightly mess I’ve made. Yes, well now look. I must go back to where I belong. The Shire. I most certainly don’t belong with these dwarves, why, I’m not even welcome!’ That’s what I said, I did.”

What did it feel like, to think that the only way of fitting right was going back? Turning around? Giving in? If Yin looked back, she would break apart all over again. The risk wasn’t one she could afford. She needed to keep moving on and on, keep pressing ahead, because she might shatter otherwise. There was no comfort in what she had left behind. The old of the past was just a burden needlessly carried. Yin wished not to bear it once more.

“But something got me to thinking. ‘I’ve got the Hill.’” Bilbo leaned forward, a queer look in his eye. He studied Yin’s eager face carefully. “‘I’ve got my Hill, I have. And I’ve Hobbiton, and the four Farthings. The garden and and the books are mine, as well the stories within them. I’ve got a toasty fireplace and a deep pantry. I’ve got fancy dishes. Doilies and napkins and handkerchiefs. And I’ve got an armchair of my own.”

That did sound very nice. Very cozy. Very homely.

“And these dwarves… what have they got?”

A just question. 

What have they got? Blue mountains and singed beards. Ashen memories. The shameful diaspora of a once-mighty people. 

Sons of kings laid low. Robbed of life, of riches, of prosperity, and home. It was gone. Taken away. And there was nothing to do, or say that would bring that tragedy to right, leastways there wouldn’t be, not for one-hundred seventy years. 

And the time came, and the chances were so meager. So hopeless.

What have they got?

“A halfling.” Yin heard herself say. “They had you.”

Slowly, softly, a smile warmed Bilbo’s face. It began in the corners of his eyes, crackling aged skin like a fading flower’s leaf. His cheeks bunched next, bright with humility, soft and dimpled and kind. And his lips curved up at the corners and stretched his skin and wrinkled his nose.

“You mistake my purpose,” He told her, kindly, and with the smile intact. “I’m sure I wasn’t much help, really. I was no mighty warrior of renowned repute, I was just a hobbit. I’d never used a sword in my life.”

What did that feel like? To not know the feeling of a blade in your hand, what did that feel like? Did it feel uneasy? Helpless? Carefree? Yin could not remember. And that thought almost made her sad.

“Though I swore to myself, I said, ‘I’m going to help them.’” Bilbo’s eyes trailed down the rug and off into deep thought. “That’s what I said. Because if there was something I knew, it was my home and all the comforts of it.” He nodded squarely. “Yes, I know home. And I loved my home. And I loved being in it, and tending it, and sharing it, rightly. To have no home seemed a horrible thing then, I thought. And I didn’t want them not to know what home was. What it felt like, what it offered. Well, they had one, but it was taken from them. And I saw it my duty to help them take it back, you see. I didn’t know what aid I could possibly offer such a valiant crew, but I tell you, I was going to do my very best.”

Yin glanced to her side, where Sam had taken a seat on the floor right next to her. She had no doubt that he’d heard the story already—and possibly multiple times—but he looked yet as if he was listening anew. His open expression was hanging on every of Bilbo’s words, drinking them in, like Yin was. Endearing, that their attitudes should find sync. Though, credit be to the old hobbit, he was full of wisdom, he. One would be foolish not to give ear.

“And the adventure,” Bilbo leaned back, some. His smile turned fond, fatherly, even, as though the memories made him more content than they did sad. As though he had watched them turn from bitter to sweet, over a lifeage of time.

“The adventure was not about me anymore. Not about the riches I would gain, or the dangers I would face, or even the exciting things I would get to do, no. It was now a thing for my friends. I was there to be there for them, if that makes a bit of sense to you. See, I just wanted to protect them, and assist their quest in any way I could—because as badly as I wanted to go home, even more I wanted to help someone find one to call their own.”

Yin almost sighed at the romanticness of it. See true friendship, therein his actions and drives, this hobbit here. And he knew it not. That was quite admirable. 

“Though I can say I still craved Bag-End in my heart, and I know that at some times I made pitiful company. Too often I indulged, and left the others to attend themselves. And though he told me…” Bilbo trailed off here, and he seemed to become a little choked up by whatever thoughts plagued his mind. “H-he told me, now, he said that should more people value food and cheer and song, they’d make this world a merrier place. As if he were my comfort—! To justify my time wasted on desire. For I had a greed of my own, yet not a dragon’s gold, did I covet.”

_ Riddle-maker _ . Yin thought to herself, because she did not quite comprehend.

Did he not know that his efforts had paid off in more ways than he might have conceived? That his ill deeds meant nothing to his high and venerable repute? Or else how would Yin, a commoner—a human from miles past Erebor—know and exalt his name?

“But alas, you did not come to see me wallow in sorrows long gone,” With a resigned huff, Bilbo straightened his back and schooled his expression firmly, erasing all traces of former sadness. “You came to hear me tell the tale, and you have heard it. My own recount, that is—of which, I now presume, little is shared. My friends have been dishonest.”

Yin smiled slowly, in spite of herself.

“So you see, I was not a hero, by any means, oh no! Not at all. I was trying to help my friends. I just wanted them to have what I had, or rather, that which I loved.” Bilbo’s gaze fell to Yin again. With that simple thought, he fell silent, seeming to have resolved the words quite neatly: another thing to admire. 

And Yin was indeed admiring him. In quite a child-like way, if she was honest. Her wide eyes had barely left his face for a thing—which was unusual for her—and the sparkling, shimmering, beautiful dress had barely crossed her mind. Her hands lay folded neatly in her lap. Dry. Still. Quite an odd occurrence.

“I think not.” She murmured. “If I am so bold as to contradict you. Your memory of your deeds is very humble, and in that I find but more of subject to applause.”

“Oh,” He sputtered in a half grumpy, half flustered tone. “I do not want your applause, Yin, daughter of Erduthil. I wish for your understanding. Do you understand all that I have told you?”

Yin took a moment to turn the question over in her head. Did she understand?

This wasn’t quite the meeting that she had expected. But then—she truly hadn’t known what to expect anyway. Coming here, seeing this hobbit, this famed character from epics nigh on eighty years past, was not an event she had planned for her final day in Rivendell. She had always hoped… of course, who wouldn’t dream of meeting their idol? But she’d never plotted out what she would—hypothetically—say (silly), and so she’d been mostly fumbling for speech and coasting on emotional overload for the majority of the time she’d been there.

But she had listened well, just like she’d been asked, even in spite of her cooked mind. Now, she was being asked to understand, and she was trying to gauge if she was even able to.

No one had ever bothered to recount the stories from Bilbo’s perspective, not to her, not before. But those that she’d heard had always described his character, and personality, and reactions so neatly she’d never imagined that some things might have… meant more to him. That friendship, and even pity might have been his drives. His stubborn, in-it-for-the-long-haul attitude keeping him tightly tied to the group. Tightly bound. The love for his companions spurring him to do once-unimaginable things, like sneaking into a dragon’s lair, or giving away an Arkenstone as if it had no value.

Did Yin understand that? She herself was about to go on a quest of her very own. Doubtful that it would be quite as epic or grand as Bilbo’s, but the fellows were bound by oath (not a contract, just close enough), and she wondered if her motives too would change halfway through the journey. Because she wasn’t really friends with the rest of the Fellowship. She respected, and took comfort in some of them, but not even all of their names had made their ways to her ears. Aragorn was the only of their company she could say was loved in heart, despite how the hobbits were rapidly growing on her.

She would do anything for him, her  _ bâheluh _ , her brother in arms. Even a man old enough to be her grandsire. If he asked anything of her, Yin doubted she could deny it—provided only that his well being came first. Yes, her friendship with the ranger was a fierce and loyal one, and Yin could envision casting even the Simarill into the waiting arms of the sea, if only to give peace to his heart, and bring a smile to his face. It was uncertain if the rest of her associates could be held in such high honor. But even if she did not see them the same way, perhaps she could come to care for them, if not as deeply.

Was that what Bilbo had meant? He had not taken jewels and silver from the mountain of kings, only one small chest of gold, and a year’s worth of memory. It was rumored that his share of wealth had been a little seed: an acorn, an unborn tree. That was not a treasure by most people’s standards, and Yin herself did not believe that that had been what most he prized. If what he said was true.

_ Riddle-maker _ .

But as she stared at him now, his patient face, and as she mulled his question over and pondered it deeply, she wondered that maybe his aim had not been to puzzle her. Perhaps his message was more direct, and honest. The adventure had not been about him, regardless of how others remembered it. He’d been there for the success of his companions. It was not about a share of riches, or a prize to collect, it was to know what the other needed, and so deduce what was needed of one. Like Yin.  _ They must increase; I must decrease _ .

Yin did not care for herself, only the desire to exalt her family. That made it so very simple to smile openly at the hobbit before her and nod. Because yes, to his question.

“I think I do.”

His smile softened. He closed his eyes. 

Beside Yin, Sam shifted his feet to a comfortable position. He looked bright and happy. At ease among the scattered books and scripts of paper on the floor, surrounded by a lifeage of memory. The memory of one person, whom Yin (in spite of his efforts) still beheld heroic—because she felt in kind, and her opinion of him did not change. Seated where he was, Frodo looked not as content as his loyal friend, and more as though he was in deep contemplation. Yet he was smiling, and Yin sensed that he was at peace, as he hadn’t been for some length of time. The two young halflings seemed to have been just alright to sit there and listen like she had. And that was nice. It was good.

“Good.” Bilbo said. He opened his eyes and regarded her. “That is good, dear girl.”

Yin was happy at that, in a way she had not been since before her fourteenth winter. Not since she had been invited as now: to read the sun to it’s bed, and the moon through a net of stars. Since she had read without worry, to wonder that heroes existed in her world. Heroes and great myths. 

Courage that passed into legend.

**Author's Note:**

> There it is! Hope you liked it. Let me know if you want to see more of what Yin has to offer :). Anyway, please leave comments and kudos! Love you guys UwU


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